


It Started Like This

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: “Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity.Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?”Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.”“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically.“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 41
Kudos: 333
Collections: harringrove for BLM





	It Started Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkGoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkGoddess/gifts).



> written for lissieisspacey for harringrove for BLM. Also based on [this amazing art draw by artzeppo](https://artzeppo.tumblr.com/post/620192130859712512/a-harringrove-for-blm-piece-and-a-gift-for)

It started with Steve clearing out his savings account. 

He marched into the bank kind of in a daze, and before he knew it he was blinking in front of a teller and saying, _I’d like to withdraw all of my money_. She gave it to him, baffled, and he looked down at the stacks of bills -- the college fund that his dad had deposited that never came to fruition because no colleges would take him in addition to the tiny amount he’d managed to put in there from his Family Video earnings. 

If he was in a daze before, he suddenly moved as if a meteorite would crash into the Earth if he didn’t _hurry_. He sped home, took the stairs two at a time, flung open two suitcases on his bed and jammed them full of clothes, a handful of pictures, the little league trophy from when he was nine, a few cassettes, and the little stuffed tiger Billy had given him last night that led to their first kiss. 

He snapped them closed as soon as they were full, tossed them in the trunk, and squealed his tires as he took the corner hard toward Cherry Lane. 

Neil Hargrove was outside watering his lawn when Steve came to a speeding halt in the driveway, sending gravel skittering. 

“Can I help you?” Neil asked as Steve bounded up the stairs and let himself into the house. 

“Nope, fuck off!” Steve shouted back over his shoulder. 

“Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity. 

Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?” 

Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.” 

“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically. 

“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.” 

Two heavy boot thumps came from Steve in Billy’s doorway. “You’ll go nowhere with this boy,” Neil said from behind Steve’s back. 

Fire flared up in Billy’s eyes -- a fire that had been missing during Billy’s strenuous ten-month recovery from Starcourt. 

Last night, the first time that Steve had ever kissed Billy, Billy’s eyes were soft and warm as Steve held the little stuffed tiger that Billy had given him. 

Right now, Billy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll go where the _fuck_ I want.” 

“You’ll do exactly as I-”

Steve turned around and decked Neil, and Neil went down with a loud thump. _I won again_ , Steve thought. _Dustin would be proud_. 

Billy stood wide-eyed, silent. Time stretched out for a few moments as Billy blinked at his father on the ground. “Fuck you Neil,” he whispered down to Neil’s unconscious body splayed on the hallway floor. 

Then, he went digging under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. He started emptying the contents of his dresser into it. “See those crates over there? Start dumping shit in them.” 

The crates made up part of Billy’s makeshift vanity. Steve’d always felt sad when he looked at it that Billy had to make it himself since his dad didn’t simply buy him one. He pulled apart the vanity and started filling the crates with haircare products and cologne and random items from Billy’s shelf. 

They stood at the trunk of the beemer holding all of Billy’s worldly possessions. Billy paused as he looked at the beemer, then looked over at his own car. His expression hardened. “Let’s take the Camaro,” he said. “Let’s bring her home.” 

Steve nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t overly-connected with the beemer in any case.

He left the keys in Dustin’s mailbox with a hastily scribbled note on a Burger King napkin. 

Dustin would be 16 soon enough, and he deserved to have a good car. The whole thing felt good and right and when they pulled away, Steve wiped at tears that he hoped were inconspicuous.

They make it through Indiana, Illinois, and most of Missouri smiling, whooping, and fist pumping. They blared Metallica and Ratt and Van Halen. The Camaro felt like a roller coaster flying past corn stalks, flitting greens and fields of golden wheat. Steve stuck his hand out the window and felt the breeze flow between his fingers, free and clear. 

Billy laced his fingers through Steve’s on the seat between them. They stopped and shared their second kiss after eating, still tasting of greasy burgers and Cokes with the smell of asphalt in the air. 

They shared their third kiss when they spent the night at a motel, neon lights in the middle of a dark night, shining through the crack in their curtains as they slept together but kissed lazily and spooned, too tired to take it any further, too drained after a day of driving and intense emotion. Steve buried his nose in Billy’s curls. 

Steve drove the next day with Billy’s hand on his thigh. They drove past more corn while Billy complained about Steve’s Lionel Richie tape laming up the aura of his car, then slept, mouth open and aviators dangling off of his ear. His curls blew around in the air from the cracked window. 

Eventually the air grew warm and dry around them. Night settled. The stars appeared and the temperature dropped as Billy laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t asleep -- he just rambled about nothing and Steve dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders. 

“You’re good to me, pretty boy,” Billy said as he took a drag off of his smoke. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted to run away and join the circus with anyone else,” Steve said. He planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead. 

That night as they were bringing their suitcases into their motel room, a tiny little tabby cat brushed in past their legs, jumped up on the bed, and curled up into a ball. 

“Fuckin excuse _you_ ,” Billy said to the cat. “Our bed. Skidaddle.” 

The cat blinked lazily up at Billy. 

“You wanna stay here you gotta pitch in for the room, gato,” Billy said as he placed his suitcase on the stand. Steve closed the door.

“Hey. That cat needs to get out. Open the door back up.” 

Steve shrugged. “He looks comfy. We should let him stay.” 

“How do you know it’s a _he_?” 

“I don’t. C’mere gato!” Steve said in a high-pitched voice. The cat stood and walked to the end of the bed, raising his little grey head and closing his eyes while Steve scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, under his chin. 

Gato started purring. 

“I think we have a cat now,” Steve said. 

“We don’t have a fucking cat, Steve.” 

That night, though, Gato slept on Billy’s chest. And when Steve woke up, Billy was petting him and cooing.

When they got around to loading up the car, Gato walked out with them and jumped up into the Camaro’s back seat when Steve opened the door. 

Billy looked at the cat and shook his head. “I guess we have a cat.” 

They found a pet store in the phone book and Steve peeled off some of his savings account money for food, litter, a couple of bowls, and a box. 

They stopped one more time at a motel. Gato curled up in Steve’s suitcase on top of his clothes while Steve tongue kissed Billy on the bed, heated, dick hard, got down between Billy’s legs, thick thighs under his hands as he sucked and sucked with Billy’s hand on the back of his head. 

Billy did the same for Steve on his knees while Steve braced himself against the wall, breathless, in love, so in love, his heart bursting with it as he spilled into Billy’s mouth. 

The next day the _Welcome to California_ sign loomed ahead of them and grew larger as they approached. 

Billy pulled the car off to the shoulder as they got close to it. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked. 

“Come on,” Billy said as he exited the car. 

Steve looked around and couldn’t see why -- they were near the Colorado River so maybe Billy wanted to snap a Polaroid with the camera he’d purchased yesterday. 

Gato got out behind Steve and started playing with the brush on the side of the road. 

“Gonna carry you across the state line, baby. Here’s our future,” Billy said, gesturing up at the sign. He crouched down. “Get up on my back.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, and as he started to climb up, Gato scurried up Steve’s back and got up on his shoulder. “And you accused me of being romantic.” He leaned down to kiss Billy’s cheek as Billy started walking forward with Steve and Gato on his back. 

It started four days ago with Steve clearing out his savings at Hawkins National. It started there, and ended here, in California, where Billy carried them across the state line, where they found a little loft in San Diego that fit their budget, where Steve found work in a bookstore and where Billy got a job in a repair shop.

It started at the bank, and it ended in love.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


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